


Baby, You Can Drive My Car

by BlossomsintheMist



Series: Steve/Tony Kinktober 2017 [8]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Gaping, Anal Sex, Ankle Cuffs, Bondage, Bottom Steve, Bottom Steve Rogers, Comeplay, Dirty Talk, Dom Tony, Dom Tony Stark, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fucking Machines, Kissing, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mention of switching, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Sexual Content, Sub Steve, Sub Steve Rogers, Subspace, Top Tony, Top Tony Stark, honor bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-19 01:01:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12399882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlossomsintheMist/pseuds/BlossomsintheMist
Summary: “Nothing but the best for my best guy,” and this time, Steve’s groan was soft and shuddering and all about Tony calling him that old-fashioned phrase, it never failed to make him feel warm and, and soft, and cared for, the way Tony always managed to do so damn well, “this is the Lamborghini of fucking machines, all right?Written for Day Ten of Kinktober: Fucking Machine.





	Baby, You Can Drive My Car

Tony’s fingers slid down, over Steve’s hip, avoiding his cock, hot and heavy and hard where it rested against his belly, sliding down between his legs to brush at the edges of his hole where he was spread wide, as the machine slid the huge fake cock in and out of him, and Steve tried not to buck up or jerk wildly at the touch, trying to hold himself still as Tony’s fingers wandered over him, feeling himself trembling even more as they did.  His skin felt damp, sticky with sweat, all over; he could feel his gut clenching and straining, and Tony’s fingers made his stretched skin prickle and throb with sensitivity under their touch, feeling where he was open so wide.  Steve moaned, felt his hands move down and clench into fists over the bed where Tony had laid him out, deep into the sheets.

“A little more lube, I think,” Tony said, and shifted around Steve to stand in between his legs, pushing up the heaving, sweaty weight of Steve’s thigh with one hand and turning his head to suck deep, wet kisses along the meat of it, fastening his mouth over the sensitive inner side of Steve’s knee and kissing it like he was kissing it with tongue, until the sensation slammed through Steve like a wave, going straight to his dick, Tony’s hot wet mouth and tongue and the suction against that incredibly sensitive skin.  He strained to stay still, fighting what felt like his every muscle, and only realized he was gasping, moaning and tossing his head against the pillows Tony had stacked under it, when Tony murmured soothingly to him, shifted his mouth away and skimmed it up his thigh, stroking the sweaty, heaving skin.

A moment later, he felt it, the slight brush of Tony’s fingers as he slicked up the dildo, felt the new, freshly easy, slick slide of it into him, the way the lube dripped, cool and slick, against the heat of his raw, swollen rim as it pushed into him, ran down the crack of his rear and between his cheeks.  The slide was easier now, so much easier that it was almost disorienting, and almost left Steve feeling adrift, not sure if he missed the tight friction, the pinch and tug at his inner walls that had left him aching and raw to the point of pain every time the dildo pushed in deeply.  This slide was so slick and easy now, so that the big dildo barely felt like anything despite the internal pressure as it slid in, pushing his soft, lax insides open wide, and hell, how loose was he, and oh, oh, it was pressing against his sweet spot in there again, and the pleasure was so—so bright and hot and overwhelming and his dick, ached, throbbing for a touch, bumping wet and messy against Steve’s belly—oh, it felt so good, and he just wished he could come, come on, he could come, he knew he could, if his damn dick just cooperated a little bit more—

He only realized he was writhing, arching his back and gasping on the bed, when Tony leaned in, took one of Steve’s hands in his, running his thumb over the back of it for a few moments before he shifted to press their palms together and squeeze. “Looking good, big boy,” he purred. Steve tried to open his mouth, to speak in return, but all that came out were broken, gasping whines, and he felt himself flush, the blood rushing to his head dizzyingly.  God, he had to be wrecked.  Tony linked their fingers, reached up and ran the backs of his other hand, still wet with lube, against Steve’s cheek.  They felt cool against the hot, sweaty skin, and Steve pushed his face into it, panting, as the lube smeared across Steve’s cheekbone.  He didn’t care; Tony’s touch felt amazing. “You should see yourself,” Tony murmured, “it’s pushing into you so easy; you open up so sweet and nice for it, don’t you, babe?  I’m jealous.”

Steve gave a breathless little laugh at that, closing his eyes and just pushing into Tony’s hand. “Hey, nah,” he managed to gasp out. “Don’t be.  You, you do fine.  You do, you do wonderful.”

“Aw, that’s nice of you to say, sweetheart,” Tony said, all warm and fond, stroking his fingers down along Steve’s jaw, “but let’s just say your body is a little more naturally talented at this, yeah?”

Steve flushed, felt his traitorous cock harden just a little bit more, bumping hard and hard against his belly, drooling out precome in a wet sticky patch right under his navel.   _Yeah_ , he wanted to say, _but I wasn’t always_ , and then his mind was filled with a vivid, vivid mental image of Tony doing this to him before—before the serum, his body skinny and pale and flushed all over and shaking, almost shaking apart, as he gasped for air, and Tony would be—would be worried, probably, Tony was always so sweet and solicitous, and he’d stay there with his hand on the back of Steve’s neck, even as Steve told him to quit it, curl his hand around Steve’s slender cock and made him come, kissing his bony, trembling shoulder, or—Steve wasn’t even sure if that turned him on or not, thinking about that, but he felt his gut clench tight with, with emotion, with _something_ , unable to push the vivid image away from his mind for long moments that left him trembling, pushing his face into Tony’s hand.

If he was still skinny and sickly, he’d have been tight, tighter than Tony was now, probably, Tony would have had to work him open, use even more lube, until he was dripping, and still raw as the machine pried him open, pounded into him until he was bruised and gaping, and he’d love every second of it, Steve was sure.  Usually Steve never thought about how he’d been before during sex, tried not to, even, but for a second it was all he could think about.

And then the huge blunt head of the dildo kissed along his sweet spot again and he lost all his thoughts entirely on an aching, gasping spasm of pleasure.  It tore through him, and when he finally came down from it, he opened his eyes and looked down at his cock, thinking he must have come, but was greeted by nothing but the remains of his earlier orgasms wet across his belly, his cock still leaking and hard, so heavy against his belly, so hot he could feel the heat in a hard heavy line where it rested against him, and a disbelieving little moan punched itself out of his mouth.  It felt impossible, and the thought that he hadn’t come from that kind of pleasure almost hurt.  He wanted to come again so _badly_ , but he’d promised Tony he wouldn’t touch his cock himself.  He’d promised.

“Shh, buttercup,” Tony murmured.  “I’ve got you.  I’ll take care of you.”  His hand skimmed down Steve’s jaw, over his neck, down his chest, to circle around the sensitive, hot skin of Steve’s nipple until he was whimpering, gasping, feeling his cock pulse and jerk with every touch, and Tony slid his hand down further to rest his hard palm against Steve’s belly.  “You feeling good?” he asked, and Steve nodded.  His head felt loose, strangely connected to his neck, and he kept nodding until Tony touched his head again, stilled it with a firm touch of his fingers to his jaw.  “That’s good,” Tony told him.  “If you’re ever not feeling good, you’re going to tell me, right, cupcake?”  His fingers were brushing caressingly at Steve’s pulse now, over his throat, and Steve nodded, closed his eyes and felt, well, warm, taken care of, strangely safe at the same time he felt opened and spread almost violatingly wide, _fucked_ by the massive of the intrusion of the dildo sliding slickly into the place inside his body it had made for itself.  That Tony, indirectly, had made inside him.  That made him feel wrenched open, hot and trembling like he was about to come, on every thrust.

“Course,” he finally managed.  “I’ll tell you.”

“If it hurts,” Tony said, still stroking at Steve’s pulse, and Steve nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, and it came out hoarse, shuddering, almost all breath.  “If it, if it hurts, I’ll say.”  His breath almost hurt when he dragged it out of his lungs.  “Promise.”

“Good,” Tony said. “Because that’s a steel-titanium wand, pushing that dildo deep inside your beautiful hole, big boy.  You’re not pushing that out, no matter how hard you clench those pretty muscles inside, not after all the weight I put into the body of this one.  You’re just going to lie there and take it.”  His hand slid down, over Steve’s chest, making him gasp and arch up, feeling that warm touch against his hot skin, the way the sweat beading over every inch of him made him feel cold at every shiver of air.  Tony’s hand slid down, wrapped around Steve’s ankle where it was splayed out wide, hooked to the post of the bed with one of those magnetic adamantium cuffs Steve still hadn’t ever been able to break out of.  The bed was another story, of course, but this one was pretty sturdy, some kind of metal design Tony had put together.  Tony’s thumb stroked just above the padded cuff, against Steve’s skin.  “And the motor I put in this thing,” he murmured, and Steve moaned, long and deep, as it pushed back into him, rubbed long and hard and deep over that spot inside him, and oh, God, was the rate changing, was it going slower now, deeper, pushing farther into him.  “Nothing but the best for my best guy,” and this time, Steve’s groan was soft and shuddering and all about Tony calling him that old-fashioned phrase, it never failed to make him feel warm and, and soft, and cared for, the way Tony always managed to do so damn well, “this is the Lamborghini of fucking machines, all right?  It could fuck you for hours, baby boy, and never slow down, for _days_.  I’ll give you a break, though.”  He patted Steve’s foot, gently, grabbed it and rubbed his thumb along the sole of it.  Steve’s skin felt so sensitive, even there, and he ended up gasping for breath, the touch vivid and bright and brilliant all through him.  “We’re not going to be here for days.”

Steve wanted to ask how long they were going to be there, but he didn’t even know for sure how long he had already been there.  Time had started to come in orgasms for him, and the spaces between them, rather than hours, or minutes, and he’d had four; that was all he knew.  Four, and the machine was still pistoning inside him, inhumanly steady, regular, every deep thrust against his sweet spot making Steve whimper, his cock leaking and thudding against his belly so that Steve could feel his own hot, sensitive tip rubbing against his skin every time the machine bottomed out inside him with another deep thrust that made his muscles seize up inside, made his stomach clench and his cock jerk.  His rear felt so hot, slick and wet and open, and every time the dildo slid back into him, he shivered all over, quivering tremors running up and down over his sensitive skin.  His inner walls felt warm and wet and quivering just as much as his skin, his muscles, outside, more, squeezing and clenching, clutching at the big dildo inside, making it all the more intense against him inside.  The first mind shattering, easy orgasms had swept through him like a wave, leaving him sensitized and hot and weak, his muscles loose and quivering.  He wasn’t sore, not yet, but there was a weakness, a tenderness, a burning trembling shuddering in his every muscle that told him he could be.  If Tony kept him at this, like this, he would be.

He couldn’t wait.  He ached for Tony to push him harder, until it hurt, until he was just lying here aching, loose and wide and open and helpless, and always the constant pressure, the constant thrusting, deep inside him, pushing into him, never letting up, never relenting.

Tony’s hand slid up, came back to his belly, just above Steve’s cock.  Never touching it, he hadn’t touched him even once.  “You’re so lovely,” Tony’s voice came, soft and crooning and reverent, his hand flat against Steve’s abs.  He had to be able to feel him clenching, cramping as the machine thrust into him deep again, dug in against his sweet spot and Steve’s cock throbbed again and again failed to come.  “You’re so lovely and wrecked already, my beautiful debauched needy boy. You look so perfect, so desperate when you’re right on the edge like this, and I bet that’s driving you crazy, isn’t it?  You’re not coming from it inside you any more.  You need more now, don’t you?  Just a little more to just,” his finger circled Steve’s navel, flicked inside, “tip,” he tapped a finger just above it, “you,” another tap, just above that one, making Steve shudder at each touch to his sensitive skin, “over the edge.”

Steve didn’t answer, couldn’t, because the machine was speeding up again, mechanical, precise, inexorable, and driving into his sweet spot with every thrust as if to match that gentle tapping rhythm.  It was a long moment before he realized that his mouth was hanging open, saliva sliding out of it and down over the side of his jaw.  Tony stroked his belly, gently, just with his fingertips, and Steve shuddered under him, lost in sensation for long moments at a time.  It didn’t matter; it was true, and Tony knew it, knew exactly how true it was.

“I designed this just for you,” Tony murmured.  His fingers slid up again, tweaked at Steve’s nipple, pulled just enough so that Steve was gasping, choking on spit gathering at the back of his throat, arching up into it and crying out in short, gasping little cries that barely sounded like him. “Programmed the thrust pattern myself. After all, who knows what you need better than me, right, sugar?”  His thumbnail slid down, rubbed gently back and forth against Steve’s areola, just under the desperately hard peak of his nipple, standing out from his body and trembling with the awareness of Tony’s gently scratching nail just under it. “I’ve learned your body, babe, made a study of it.  Every little sensitive spot, what makes you bite your lips, what makes you arch up and come, gasping.  It’s the linear actuator design, you see.”  His other hand was stroking Steve’s arm now, slow, gentle against the trembling muscles, and then both hands slid down, squeezed against the fingers Steve had dug deep into the bed to stop him from touching his own cock, curled his hands around them and pulled them up, and Steve let him, let him tug them up until they lay splayed wide, helpless, on either side of his head, Tony holding his hands as he hung on desperately, clenching at Tony’s strong palms to steady himself somehow.  He realized he was using the leverage that gave him to rock himself down against the machine, pushing it up against his sweet spot desperately, rocking his behind against the bed, into the thrusts, though it barely gave him any more sensation than he was already getting.  “Gives you that dynamic stroke length.  I can make it shorter, longer, push further into you—yep, just like it’s doing now, you noticed that yet, pretty boy?  You’re drooling for it so nice already.”  Tony leaned in, and warm breath, warm lips, brushed against Steve’s shoulder.  “That lets me program it for you like this, give it a sequence so we don’t have to manually re-adjust.  Gives you that nice, deep, realistic thrust that you like so much.”

Tony’s hand slid down again, rubbed circled over Steve’s chest, over his pecs, between his nipples, and he gasped, moaned, arched up into it, Tony’s warm hand against his flushed, sweaty, shivering skin.

“And with that powerful motor,” Tony murmured, “it’ll push into just as hard and fast as you—or I—want it to, babydoll.”  He pushed Steve’s hands back, pulled a pillow down under Steve’s head and pushed his hands under it.  Steve sighed, almost sobbed, as he felt something in him relax at the helplessness at the position, of Tony putting him where he wanted him.  Tony leaned in, brushed damp hair out of Steve’s face, kissed at his hot, sweaty forehead, a tiny lingering brush of tenderness that had Steve’s breath catching in his throat.  “But you want it just as hard as I want to give it to you, right, sweetcheeks?” he murmured, his fingers sliding up over Steve’s sweaty face, thumbs brushing over his cheeks, moving up to push his hair back behind his ears.

Steve nodded.  It felt like his mouth was hanging open, wet with spit, with saliva.  Tony’s thumb came down, thumbed gently at his spit-sloppy bottom lip, pushing saliva back into Steve’s drooling mouth, and Steve closed his mouth, tried to suck against the hard, callused pad of it, pull it into his mouth.  He saw Tony’s smile—Tony himself looked flushed and red, and his smile was soft, fondly crooked as he rubbed his knuckles against Steve’s cheek.

“Speeding up now,” Tony told him.  “Just about 300 strokes per minute at the _moment_ , but that’ll get faster.  Nice and long and hard, you like how hard that fucks into you, right?  Yeah, see, it’s getting faster, just like I said.”

It was, harder, ever faster, slamming into him hard, into the place inside him that exploded with pleasure every time it pushed past it.  Steve was moaning, sure he was drooling, couldn’t care.

“That’s it, babe,” Tony murmured, “that’s it, honey, let me hear you,” and that was when Steve realized he was crying out, arching his back against it, his hips jerking off the bed with every thrust, rolling and thrusting and pushing back down into the machine.  “God, you look beautiful like this, sweaty and desperate and needy, you need it, don’t you stud?”

And Steve didn’t even realize he was going to say it until he did, but he moaned, “Please,” panting, desperate, “please, Tony.”

“Oh, I know,” Tony said softly.  “I know. I’ll give it to you, honey.”  He reached back, must have adjusted something, because the thrusting, slick, blunt head drew back out of him, nearly left the throbbing grasp of his body, pushing against the bottom of his open hole, down against his rim until he was aching, feeling raw and tender and almost bruised, but then it was pushing back into him, all over wet again, so Tony must have slicked it up, and then it pushed in, directly against that spot that sent pounding, thumping, pulsing pleasure, punching up his spine, to his cock, like a bolt of lightning.  He heard himself moan, his back arching, hips jerking up.  It was slamming into him hard, deep and penetrating so that his prostate throbbed and ached as pleasure bloomed through him with every time the dildo slammed into him, but not so hard that it was more pain than pleasure, not so hard that he couldn’t take it.  No, just hard _enough_.  Steve heard himself whining, his head jerking from side to side, and he was aware of Tony sliding his hand under his neck and rubbing, gently, his hand on his belly, soothing him, gentling him.  He felt himself relaxing into it, going soft, somehow, all through him, even as he shook with the shattering pleasure that sank its hooks into him, dragged through his body.

It built and built, and Steve’s hips were jerking, his cock aching, and then Tony started talking again, about the rate of torque, and the units of power behind each thrust, the angle of the thrust, how deep it was inside him.  Steve could hear it whining, whirring, and the sound teased at his ears, the back of his mind, under Tony’s warm, velvet voice, and then, somehow, another orgasm was jerking through him, without a single touch to his cock, Steve felt it as his body lit up with it, with the pleasure, and he felt his cock spattering him with wet as he fell over the edge.  When he came down, everything felt liquid and loose and his muscles were burning, his cock hurting, throbbing against his belly, still half-hard, or was that already half-hard again, as the thrusting of the machine into his slick, open hole continued, making slick noises that sounded squelching and loud in the room.  Steve was whining, gasping, half-sobbing with sensitivity, the over-stimulation of the machine against his sensitive, throbbing place inside, where he felt tender now, bruised and needy, wanting despite his soreness with every jarring thrust of the dildo inside him.

“Shh, honey,” Tony said, fingertips tracing down over Steve’s chest.  “I’ve got you.  I’ve got you.”  Soft, soothing touches down Steve’s thighs, gentle and slow and soft, and then  the motions were changing again, slowly, and the machine drew back and when it thrust inside him again it was giving him those long, slow grazes along his sweet spot that were somehow easier to bear. Tony kept stroking his thighs, rubbing gently, and Steve caught his breath, eventually, still rocking, arcing with the pleasure that shivered through his body, but now able to settle into it, somehow, let it spread through him.  His eyes felt wet, he realized, and he was gasping unsteadily. “That’s it,” Tony murmured, “just breathe.  That’s five, slugger.”

Steve’s dick felt tender, tight, overheated and throbbing.  It hurt, felt sensitive and swollen, almost—overripe, like the skin was a few sizes too small.  He moaned. “Mmm,” he said, trying to say more, trying to say, yeah, Tony, that’s five, God, you give it to me good, but unable to get it out of his mouth, somehow.

“Sore yet?” Tony asked, and Steve nodded again.  “Think you’ve got a few more in you?” Tony asked, and Steve gave a harsh little gasp through his nose, couldn’t help it, just at the thought of more.  But he nodded again.  It felt so good, and he could—he could still think.  He wanted to see how much farther he could go.

They must have stayed there for hours.  Tony never once left him, rubbing his belly, stroking his hair back off his face, massaging his thighs, his hands always on Steve, somewhere, anchoring at his ankle, his wrist, against his hip, his jaw, rubbing softly over his knee or his shoulder. The—sixth, oh, God, Steve’s sixth orgasm, took forever to build, a long slow eternity of pleasure and pressure and aching, constant thrusts inside him.  Tony changed the way the device was thrusting into him so it barely pulled out, just sliding back and forth, grinding against his prostate and keeping him full, so full, stretched and spread open and aching around the weight of the huge dildo, and eventually Tony opened the lube again, coated his hand in it, and reached down, closing his slick, warm palm, his fingers, around Steve’s aching, painful dick, and stroked him gently until he brought him off, and Steve’s come sprayed in a pathetic little stream across his heaving belly, compared to normal, and he gasped and shook and panted for air, and now he knew there were tears on his face, too, along with the sweat, the drool.

Tony turned up the rate of the thrusts again, after that, sliding his fingers into Steve beside the dildo and oh, oh God, he was open enough for that, feeling around his rim and then pushing lube into him, slathering him with it, making sure the dildo was dripping when it pushed into him again.  By the time Steve came again, his entire body was dripping with sweat; he could feel it staining the bed under him.  He had no idea how long he had been there, his head was swimming, and he was lost in heat, sensation, the bruised feeling ache of his body, his cock, the needing throb of want inside him despite the pain.  His cock ached, throbbed, hot and bright with the pain, and he was gritting his teeth with each jolting thrust against his abused prostate, which felt oversized and bruised inside of him, like it had somehow swelled up to the size of an egg.  He was moaning, tossing his head, gritting his teeth, lost in the pleasure, the pain of it all, unable to tip over the edge of his climax until he found himself desperately rocking his body down against the machine, pushing with his tired legs as if it would help.  He could feel spit foam up, leak through his gritting teeth, out the side of his mouth and down along his cheek, and gasped, eyes heavy and wet at the shame of how wet and sloppy he’d become, the mess of him.

Tony just patted his cheek, wiped up the spit, murmuring to him as he rubbed his fingers against his cheek, but Steve was too gone to understand the words, desperate, pushing himself down against the dildo and he knew what he looked like, but every push in over his prostate _hurt_ , pleasure and pain dancing through him, getting caught in his throat, dragging claws along his painfully hard cock at the same time, and he was getting desperate to come, to push over that lingering height just one more time, as desperate to come as he could remember being in his life.  Usually it came easy to him, climax, easy to touch, to reach, to push over the edge and feel it lighting him up from the inside out, but now it seemed to hover just out of his reach.

But then Tony’s hand was around his sore, aching cock again, squeezing just hard enough, and his fingers—oh, oh, _oh_ , his fingers were at Steve’s hole beside the dildo, and they were pushing, pushing into him, dragging at him, pulling him open even wider around it and then sliding into him where he was stretched and aching and full, and then Tony squeezed at the head of his cock, rolling his foreskin up and down and back, then pulling it down and reaching up with one finger to run the tip of it just over the oversensitive, burning tip of him, and it _hurt_ , it hurt in his ass as Tony pushed his fingers into Steve just _there_ at his prostate and a sound left him that was almost a scream if it hadn’t been so hoarse and weak and throaty and wet and wrecked, hurt at the tip of his cock as Tony’s finger pushed against the skin of his head, so sensitive that even the slightest breath of air almost hurt and Tony’s callused finger, light as it was, made him burn and light up with pain.  His head swam, his body ached, and the pain shot down his throbbing, painful cock and Steve was coming as Tony dug his fingers into his prostate, feeling his whole body go loose and lax and heavy as more pleasure washed up and took him under.

When Steve came back to himself a little bit, he was aware of his cock, soft, throbbing against his belly, and the way Tony was sitting there, on the edge of the bed, stroking Steve’s hair.  Something felt different, off, and then Steve realized the constant motion had stopped—the dildo was still inside him, huge and heavy against his inner walls, filling him up, but the constant rocking motion was gone.  Steve could still feel his prostate throbbing within him, though, like a phantom pain, like it wanted something against the aching, tender flesh, something rubbing him back into painful, aching pleasure.

“Tony,” he mumbled, and it came out a low, rough moan, tumbling and slow over lips that didn’t seem to want to move with him, a tongue that wouldn’t cooperate.  He could barely understand himself.

But Tony said, “Right here, sport,” quick and low, and his hand came up, carded back through Steve’s hair, stroking it gently.  Steve had to choke back a wet noise.  His lashes felt wet.  He felt loose, torn apart, like every part of his body was disconnected from the others, tugged loose into component pieces, but not in a bad way, not—painful.  Well, painful; he ached, all over, his skin felt tight and hot like a sunburn, especially the skin of his cock, and inside his ass felt strained and tender like one big bruise.  But not in a bad way.  It wasn’t pain that felt like pain, it was pain that felt like pleasure. 

“Please,” he felt his slow, stumbling mouth say, and almost sobbed, and he didn’t know what he was asking for.

“I’ve gotcha,” Tony said, still rubbing his cheek.  Two fingers came down, smoothed across his wet, spit-slick lips, and Steve moaned, opened his mouth for them, sucked at the tips, clumsily.  “God, that’s good, honey,” Tony murmured, rubbed them over his lips, up and down now rather than horizontally, thumbed at the bottom one, then cupped Steve’s chin.  “Do you—do you want me inside you?”

“Oh,” Steve gasped out, feeling the desire hit him with that, leave him dazed, seeing stars.  He thought his soft cock might have jerked up again, against his belly.  “C-c-could. Could you?”  Was that something Tony would even want, that they could do? He had to be so—so fucked out, so loose. Would it even be good for Tony at all, fucking him like that?  But God—God, he wanted it, feeling Tony push into him where he was so loose and throbbing and wet and oversensitized, puffy and swollen and slick, to feel Tony warm inside him, fucking through all of that lube, his soft, open inner muscles, to feel Tony _come_ inside him and have it drip helplessly out him afterwards, he was so open—he’d done it to Tony and it always turned him on like nothing else could, but to be on the receiving end—God—

“Sure, big guy,” Tony murmured.  “Sure. Course I can.  I—just—are you sure it doesn’t hurt?  Steve?  You told me, you said, you swore you’d tell me if it hurt, honeybunch, you promised.”

“Hurts, but,” Steve tossed his head against the pillow, frustrated, unable to put it into words. “It’s not bad,” he said, finally. “I—I like it.  Tony.  Tony, please.”

“Of course,” Tony said softly, almost whispered, “whatever you want,” and then he bent his head and brushed a sweet, soft kiss over Steve’s slack, wet lips, even as Steve struggled, tried to lift up his head and open his mouth and kiss back, and then Tony was sliding down his body, running one gentle hand down his side as he went.

Tony’s hands were there, then, on the dildo, on the machine itself.  He fiddled around for a bit, and Steve felt a warm, tight thread of anticipation go taut in his stomach, and then Tony put on hand on his belly, just above his cock, rubbing his thumb back and forth gently just above his navel, and his hand was on the dildo as the machine started to pull it back, pull it out of him, pulling it out along with the machine.

And oh, God, it was big, so, so damn big, and it tugged on Steve’s insides as it slid out of him, shivering over every single inch of his sensitive inner walls, and he whined and moaned and bucked up, felt precome leaking out of his cock, even, soft as it was, getting wet and smearing against his belly and starting to harden again, so painfully that he cried out.  Tony caught his thighs and held him, his thumbs pressing into the thick, hard muscle there until Steve was shaking even more, not letting him thrash around too much on the dildo and hurt himself, pressing one arm down over them hard as he got his hand back on the dildo to pull it out.  The dildo sliding out of Steve was a constant tease, making him ache and shiver and moan at the feeling, but then it was out of him and he was moaning for a different reason, at how open and wet and empty he felt, how he could feel air on his wet, dripping insides, feel himself leaking lube, dripping it into a little puddle on the covers, and he felt so empty inside, so wet, swollen and puffy and bereft of the almost painful fullness that had been spreading him open for so long.  He wondered how open and puffy he was, what his hole looked like.  His nipples throbbed, as if in counterpoint to his open, throbbing ass, how worked over it felt, prickling and hot and aching dully in the air.

“Well, damn,” Tony murmured. “That is a swollen, needy little hole, isn’t it, peaches?”  His fingers came down, rubbed over it, and Steve jerked up, arched against the bed at the hot, vivid, rush of the sensation, not pleasure and not pain, but oh, God, Tony touching him there—“Well,” Tony added.  “Not so little anymore, I guess.  Your swollen, needy, wide, gaping hole is more like it.”  And while Steve was still groaning at the humiliation of that, how it went straight to his cock, feeling it throb through his entire body, Tony slid a finger up around the swollen rim, then slid three fingers into him, just like that.  They squelched wetly with lube, and Tony pushed it around inside him a little, and the sensation was so incredibly intense that Steve was moaning, pressing his head back into the pillows and shaking, lifting his hips, loving how it felt raw, how it almost hurt even with all the lube and Tony’s gentle touches, barely pressing against him inside.  He was so wrecked, so done, so, so sensitive, and Tony’s fingers were so long and clever and quick, knowing, inside him.  “So open,” Tony murmured, and he leaned down, pressed a kiss to the top of Steve’s knee.  His breath felt wet.  “So open and so slick, I’m just going to be able to slide right into you.  We finally got your pretty little hole as wet for me as your cock gets on its own, right, champ?”

Steve let out a stuttering, achy breath at that, feeling his cock jerk hard and, just like Tony said, wet, sticky, a total mess, against his belly, and stared up at the ceiling, his eyes wet, with every sensation Tony’s gentle fingers were wringing out of his trembling, shuddering, oversensitive, overworked body.  “Y-yeah,” he felt himself groan out, as if from a long way away. “Guess so.”

“Yep,” Tony breathed, “you’re beyond loose, big guy.  You’re so wrecked.  God, that’s hot, Steve, I can see why you like it.  That’s it, spread those legs a little more for me.”  He elbowed Steve’s legs a little farther apart, even as Steve struggled to spread them, pushing his thighs out wide despite the way his ankles were cuffed to the ends of the bed, and then Tony’s fingers were at his hole again, brushing over them like he was brushing a kiss there, making Steve’s sensitive flesh prickle hotly, and he was leaning up to press a real kiss against Steve’s lips, and then, then he was pressing into him.

It happened all at once. Steve had always—or ever since the serum, anyway—been good at giving way, going lax and open and soft for a cock sliding into his hole, relaxing his muscles, but he wasn’t used to being _this_ open.  Tony slid up and into him, balls deep, in seconds, and then Tony was braced over him and kissing him, blanketing him in warmth, and he was deep inside him, and Steve made a soft little noise that surprised him, even, from deep in his chest, kind of a wrenched out cry, because he was so lax and loose and wet and the easy slide of Tony deep into him made him feel helpless and opened and invaded, entirely, the wet, jerking warmth of Tony’s cock made him feel—well, warm. It did, sort of, hurt, made him feel a slow, oversensitized burn, so that he almost sobbed at the penetration, but it was a good sob, just overwhelmed from so much feeling, and Tony stroked his chest, petted at his nipple, and then he was moving inside him, his hand coming up to hold the back of Steve’s neck as he kissed him slow and deep, slipping his tongue into Steve’s mouth like he would give Steve even his breath as he pushed so deep inside him with his cock.  Steve felt so warm with Tony’s dick inside him.

Tony fucked him slowly, just rolling his hips and lazily fucking in and out, and Steve just laid there, shocked at how limp he felt, how overcome, how loose and lax and slow. Finally, after a moment, Tony pulled away from his lips, just a little bit, and squeezed at Steve’s hip with the hand not curled so blissfully firmly at the back of Steve’s neck.  “Tighten up for me,” he said.  “Just a little, squeeze down on me, tiger, I know you can do it.”

Steve moaned—it felt like so much to ask, to ask him to do anything, now, felt himself go red at the thought, the idea, that he was so loose, so fucked out, so sloppy, that Tony needed him to (and the thought of that, it made his dick jerk painfully at his stomach, drool out just a little more precome to smear beneath his navel), but he did it, he made himself tighten up, clench down, a tight quivering roll of sensation through his lower half as he forced the muscles to squeeze together, and Tony sucked in his breath and groaned, and that was more than enough reward, that tone in his voice.  “God, that’s so gorgeous,” he groaned, “you do that so well.”

“Am I,” Steve panted, “am I tight enough now, Tony?”

And Tony smiled and nuzzled the side of his face and pressed another kiss so softly into his wet, lax lips and said, “yeah, sweetheart, plenty tight enough,” and started to roll his hips again, fucking him.

He kept at it for what felt like a long time, holding Steve, covering him, surrounding him with his warmth the whole time, and he kept having to remind Steve to tighten himself up as Steve would just relax into it, the warmth, the lassitude, let himself float away on the feelings of that warm cock moving in his wet, sloppy ass, all swollen and soft from the machine and now rubbed so perfectly by Tony’s dick until he was gasping and trembling and just perfect, floating away.  Steve didn’t begrudge it, though, it took a while for Tony to come, sometimes, and he was just glad he was enjoying him, that Steve could make it good, that Tony could feel warmth and pleasure inside of Steve’s body.

Tony finally came, gasping out his climax into Steve’s chest with tears in his eyes as he slumped over him, and Steve got one tired hand up, ran it through Tony’s hair, feeling the soft curl of it against his fingers.  Tony moaned, trembling over him, and Steve stroked his hair again. He felt far away, floaty, soft, boneless, weak and slow and heavy.  Tony’s come had left him even more warm inside, and now he could feel it leaking out around Tony’s cock, slenderer than Steve’s own or the dildo, and the awareness of that, the feeling of his spasming rim, open and wet and messy, leaking out Tony’s come, made Steve’s cock throb helplessly where it was rubbing up against Tony’s belly.

“Mmm,” Tony mumbled. “God.  You’re gorgeous.  You’re a miracle.”  He pressed a soft kiss in against Steve’s neck, his shoulder, and Steve smiled, softly, felt it slowly stretching his lips as if they belonged to someone else. It was a long moment before Tony shifted over him, pushed himself up, breathed another slow, wet kiss against Steve’s mouth, holding his face in his hands and licking into him soft and wet, and then he was moving back, pulling out of Steve, and he gave a tired little moan, a gasp at that, because the feeling was somehow so intense, leaving him open and wet and fluttering on nothing.  “Shhh,” Tony said, and then his hand was curving, softly, so damn gently, around Steve’s sore cock, pointing it up, and his lips were brushing over the tip in a gentle kiss.  “Shh, I’ve got you,” he whispered against the burning, oversensitive skin, and then he was taking it into his mouth and sucking and pulling off in another sort of kiss, a dirtier one, and Steve was crying out, arching and almost sobbing beneath him, overcome.

And then Tony’s mouth was on him, hot and wet and soft, and it was all Steve could feel, the overpowering pleasure, the ache and burn of it as Tony made him fully hard and then sucked him soft and slow.  He was gentle about it, just bobbing his head over him, even sucking softly, and when Steve came, it hurt, but not as much as he’d thought it would, his cock throbbing and blurting out what felt like just a little bit of come, for him, anyway, and it was a gentle, pleasant sort of throbbing ache, one that felt good, as Tony sucked him just a little bit longer, then pulled off, let Steve’s sticky, tired cock slip out of his mouth and land against his hip, roll down to his thigh.  He was soft, Steve noticed, utterly.  He felt soft, his whole body felt soft, soft and wet and wrecked.

“You always taste good,” Tony murmured, fondly, and then his hands were there, stroking at Steve’s shoulders, along his neck, against his jaw, and Steve smiled up at him, tried to force his eyes open to get a good view of his face, even with his blurry, dizzy vision.  Tony looked tousled and flushed and overcome, too, almost as wrecked and pulled open as Steve felt, and he pushed himself up on his arms and lifted one to slide it around Tony’s neck and pull him in for another wet, open-mouthed kiss that ended up sliding and sloppy.

Tony smiled into the kiss and kissed him back, long and willingly, stroking his hair, and then he was pushing Steve down into the pillows, moving back just long enough to grab a towel from—somewhere, had that always been there?—and wipe down Steve’s stomach, between his thighs.  He was gentle lifting Steve’s cock, wiping beneath it, along it, but Steve still sucked in his breath, trembled, at the shivering, oversensitive ache that came just from having it touched.

A few moments later, and Tony was releasing his legs, and Steve let them slide out flat, thud to the floor and dangle off the end of the bed.  “Oh,” he said.  The floor beneath his feet felt strange, almost like reminding him of the rest of the world, the feeling of it against the soles of his feet almost new, like his skin had been remade all over again.

“So,” Tony said, and his hand pressed into Steve’s again where it lay limp against the bed, against his limp palm, filling the space there like it was made for it, and Steve sighed out a slow, tired, happy breath, “any good?”

“So good, Tony,” he breathed, slow and exhausted and full of love, “so, so good.”  And he let himself lie back, let Tony move to straddle him, tilt his tired head up into a kiss, another kiss, and let himself fuzz out, ease into it unthinking but for the pleasure.  Tony, he knew, would take care of him.  Tony would let him.  Tony wouldn’t mind.  Tony liked it.  So Steve could let go.  It was hard, to do that, to let go, to let someone else take care of him sometimes, even Tony, but like this, he felt loose and lax and permissive and easy, and he knew Tony would do a perfect job, and Steve would feel like he was his.

And he did.


End file.
